Shackled
by Schryosel
Summary: Ep 3x06, Do You Love Me - Prince John visits Nottingham and orders Guy to kill the Sheriff; when he arrives at the castle to find Vaisey alive, he secretly orders the Sheriff to kill Guy. The twist: all of this happens in an AU where the trip to the Holy Land never happened and S2 ended with Marian marrying Guy.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Shackled  
**Rating:** T for violence, angst  
**Characters/Pairings**: all regular show characters, Prince John, Guy/Marian, Robin/Marian

**A/N:** This fic was written for the Gift Exchange Ficathon held at the Robin Hood yuku board and is based on a prompt with the following premise:

_3x06 (Do You Love Me) with a twist._  
_On his way to Nottingham, Prince John has Guy brought to him and orders him to kill the Sheriff; when he arrives at the castle to find Vaisey alive, he secretly orders Vaisey to kill Guy. The twist: all this takes place in an AU in which Season 2 ended with Marian marrying Guy (supply the backstory of your choice) and the trip to the Holy Land never happened._

More details of the prompt are:

In this AU, the Black Knights are still disbanded (due to Richard learning about them from Robin's reports), Prince John is still angry at Vaisey for the botched operation, and Guy was still sent to London early in Season 3 as Vaisey's scapegoat. Isabella either doesn't exist or is with her husband in Shrewsbury (in other words, she doesn't appear in the story), Marian is still helping Robin and emotionally torn between Robin and Guy, and Will and Djaq are still with the gang (but Kate is not). Whether to include Tuck, and whether Allan is still with Guy or back with the gang, is up to the author. Whether Vaisey dies is also up to the author, but no other character deaths please. The fic should be reasonably Guy/Marian-friendly but with no Robin-bashing. Bonus point for including the Locksley church-burning, and for some progress toward a Robin/Guy reconciliation."

Again, a very big thank you to my betas Novindalf and Olympias (aka hulamoth).

* * *

The flames twitched and glowed in the warm shelter of the hearth. She watched them, their oranges and yellows moving up and down, left and right, until she found herself lost in the movements of their enthralling dance.

She watched them until they merged into a blur and thoughts clouded her vision. They were nothing particular, her thoughts; they flitted about and reached all the places, all the moments her life had seen in the last few months. It wasn't anything new- she was often thinking now, and most of the time she did not even notice. But sometimes she was aware of it: when her spoon stayed for too long in her mouth at dinner; when her afternoon rides took her far beyond the premises of the land where she was supposed to stop; when Guy drifted off to sleep and she, despite being surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, kept awake till the last embers had died down.

She couldn't exactly recall when it started; when her thoughts started outweighing her actions and she became a more solemn, less idealistic woman**. **She often thought it must have begun during the weeks after the wedding- long, long weeks which washed over the short space of her life before and diminished everything about it.

* * *

The day she married him, there was no sun in the sky. She woke up to a listless world of pale blue-grey, aware of the frantic thump-thump of her heart. With the last remnants of a disordered dream still lingering in her mind, she stood up and set to the task of preparing herself for her wedding. It hadn't been long before several bustling maids had entered and continued the task.

She was to be a bride after all. _His _bride.

While they fussed and fidgeted with hair ornaments and rebellious fabric, she was aware of the same sensation which had pounded through her a year ago, on the day of what had supposed to be her marriage- that heavy feeling of the future pulling her down. This time, however, she knew that nothing would whisk her away from her fate, not even herself if the chance came to her. There was a limit to the number of times one could ruin a man on his wedding day.

She still remembered that other ceremony, the events of her previous visit to the altar. Except that now there was a hollow where her father's presence should have been and instead of the flowing breeze as her sole company, Allan walked beside her.

But the church was the same, and the same black and yellow festooned the yard. The crack in the big cobblestone on the steps still gaped at her. The faceless villagers were still flocked together on the benches. At the altar, it was still the same man who awaited her.

She approached him slowly, almost with trepidation, and when she knelt beside him, his head quickly turned her way. He averted his gaze just as swiftly. The moment had been enough for her to see wild uncertainty and a dash of hope filling his face. For an instant, the burden lessened.

The ceremony had started, and she found herself unable to focus, thoughts leaping in disarray from the mundane observation of the world around her, to the night to come, to Robin and the perplexed grief he had shown at their last meeting, to everything that had led her here to be. Here for a second time, when a month ago the thought of wearing a bridal veil was a vague and distant thing, part of an equally uncertain future.

The priest's words called her to attention. She recited through them, but half of her senses were drawn to the massive oak door behind. She wondered whether Robin or anyone of the gang would appear today.

Nearly shaking her head to ward off such thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on her own hands. But it was hard, and soon she found her thoughts straying to other places. What if she had done things differently? What if she had not let herself be carried away by the urgency of the situation? Everything had happened so swiftly- the Sheriff's suspicions, the threat of getting married off to some nobleman she did not know, and then finding the forest empty of the outlaws. Maybe she should have taken shelter somewhere else. Maybe she should have escaped before the threat became too close to a reality cornering her from all sides.

Guy had been a constant hovering presence then, proposing this and proposing that, but never mentioning the solution which had been constantly on both their minds- not after that failed forced wedding, not after the Nightwatchman. She had eventually stumbled in that direction herself. And even now as she recalled his uncertainty, his happiness- him nearly believing she was glad to be doing this- she could not help but wonder and question at what she had done. She had never believed herself to be as helpless to resort to this.

A warm hand took hers, and reality swarmed over her again. She did not look up. Her gaze remained on her hands until the ring circled her finger.

* * *

She was pulled out of her reverie by the neighing of a horse outside the manor. The sound was followed by the thump of boots on the ground, the clang of the stirrup and footsteps heading towards the door.

Guy had returned.

While duty nudged her to go and greet him, the lull of the flames and the uncertainty of her thoughts coaxed her to stay. She remained sitting.

* * *

Before he had even properly entered, his eyes had already darted to the spot at the bottom of the staircase, his mind already conjuring up the image of his wife standing there with her half-smile and deep blue eyes. When nothing greeted him instead of the vivid mental picture of her, he swallowed the brief pang of hurt.

She would be upstairs...or engaged in a task which she couldn't immediately abandon. Maybe she didn't hear him arrive. He ran upstairs with these same sort of half-formed assurances colliding with his doubts, the same sort which he had summoned again and again in the early days of his marriage whenever he had found reality too harsh to accept.

From the open door of the kitchen, Thornton followed him with his stare before it settled on the two trenchers of warm food turning cold. He sighed.

When the master and his wife eventually came down to dinner, it would be warm again. It always was.

* * *

The door of the bedchamber was slightly ajar and he pushed it open cautiously. She sat there before the fire, her back turned towards him, hair untied. A familiar urge bubbled up in him. An urge to run up to her and bury himself in her hair, her neck, the haloed circle of flickering light around her and drain all his distress, all his misery of the day away in her embrace.

But then he stopped himself.

There was a still serenity about the scene before him and he was suddenly not sure if he came nearer, it would be anything but an unwanted disruption. Pulling himself back as deeply as he could in the shadow of the door, he kept on looking, kept on waiting.

She knew he was there. Even though she barely had heard the creak of the stairs, she felt the weight of his gaze upon her, like always.

It vexed her that he should choose to remain hidden there in a shadowed place, unexposed. There was a strange feeling of cluelessness, of being without control whenever he took residence in a darkness she could not penetrate.

She took a deep breath and turned around.

"Guy?"

At first she was met by silence. Then there was a sound of fumbling, the scrape of boots, before the door was pushed open and he entered. To keep the awkwardness at bay, his face had adopted a neutral expression and he nonchalantly hung his coat over a chair. But then he turned, suddenly and quickly, and before she knew, he had enveloped her within his arms.

His breath expelled on a long sigh of her name.

She felt herself relaxing in his embrace, but then suddenly it was there as always-the small voice in her head which admonished her desire to yield to him, to his warmth, immediately. That little stabbing needle of guilt which pricked her whenever feelings beyond contentment, feelings which bordered precariously close to something she wasn't yet ready to submit to, came to her in his presence.

She tried to think of Robin and his fragmented dreams. Of the fact that this marriage had been a situational outcome not to her wishes.

But then his shoulders drooped and she felt how the tension of the day, clinging to his skin, slowly dissipated as his heart rhythmically thudded against her shoulder.

There was such weakness about him.

She slowly lifted her arms and wrapped them around his waist. He somehow felt thinner, less solid.

"How did your day at the castle go?"

It was probably something, she realised, that she shouldn't have asked, as a momentary strain returned to him. But it was said more out of habit than interest and because such quiet moments of intimacy always left her groping for the right words.

His voice came as a tired whisper beside her ear.

"Hardly...bearable."

She didn't require him to explain. She knew how he felt in the presence of anyone who had made him a victim of disloyalty. At this the image of the Sheriff flashed before her- the hollowness in his smile, the cold flicker in his eyes when he had drawn his face closer to hers, and, as a bitter wind wafting over a young harvest, told her how he had sent her husband away to pay for his incompetence. How he had done them both a favour.

The sensation of strong loathing reminded her of a question he had been evading for days.

"Have you thought of...of what you will do?"

"What do you mean?"

He tried to sound oblivious. He had never been good at hiding. She inhaled deeply and looked him in the eyes.

"Of what you will do now, now that you've-", she swallowed,"lost favour. From both quarters."

He drew himself apart and looked at her for a moment. The red heat of the flames reflected in his eyes.

"There's nothing to think of. The Sheriff is in a precarious position, it is only a matter of time before his power crumbles completely." He stared at the floor, not wanting to meet the disagreement in her eyes. "I'll take my chances then."

She disentangled herself abruptly from his arms. Her uncertainty of earlier combined with a repulsion of this weakness of his for which she had no sympathy, and swelled into anger. This was not vulnerability but something close to lethargy.

"Chances? Like those you have been successfully taking your whole life?"

He blinked at her, a stray wisp of dark hair falling before his eyes. At that moment, she saw how he considered himself; manacled by a lack of choice...a twist in fate. There was always something holding him back. There was always an excuse to avoid taking that crucial step which would bring him so close to the man she wanted him to be.

She wondered whether it was fright or the reluctance to change which hampered him.

"What would you want me to do then?" he asked. "Go out and do something reckless? Run off with you and start anew in some godforsaken place, with no money, no security or safety whatsoever?"

There was no denying of the sense in his words. But sense hardly mattered now, now when she saw how his insecurities kept on building cages around her hopes. The collected fury and annoyance of the past months inside her combined to form angry and bitter words.

"What I would want for you is to stop thinking everything will work out itself. To stop being so terrified of stepping out of the shadows of others for once. You talk of better chances, but you hardly ever avail yourselves of them; you talk of becoming a better man, a man who makes the right choices, but you never try hard enough!"

She stopped, and her hand trembled when she lifted it to smooth back her hair. She turned to look at him sitting on the edge of the bead, head in hands. She was not prepared for the weariness on his face when he finally looked up.

"Can we please talk about this at some other time?"

His voice was so low she hardly heard him.

When her own stomach rumbled and a flicker of guilt told her he would be even hungrier, she stiffly proposed going down for dinner.

They went down and ate a warm meal in silence.

* * *

Later that night, she made sure she was under the bedcovers well before he was. The dinner had dragged on under a cloud of unease which stifled the room and they had hardly spoken. As she wrapped the bedsheets tightly around herself, she was keenly aware of the sound of his slow movements behind her; the thud of boots, the clang of a goblet, the rustle of clothes. They all came and went with a rhythmic slow resonance which indicated that he had again become lost in that dark moorland of his thoughts.

She wanted him to pull out of it. To fly into a rage and give rightful reason for her to respond in the same, to let that bubble of annoyance she had been carrying for so long within her empty completely. She clenched and unclenched her hand, willing the silence to break.

At length the mattress shifted behind her. There was an urge to say something bitter but she quelled it. She would not be so easily dissuaded from her pretence of aloofness. She would _not_.

A few long moments passed like this and just when she thought she would finally drift off with the heavy silence still cast overhead, she heard the bed creak and he shifted closer. A moment later, his hand had found hers. He tentatively rubbed over it with his thumb. By now, after some five months of marriage, she knew he meant it as a gesture of apology.

She turned to face him. His eyes, wide and open, bore into hers.

It was nothing...I was exhausted and spoke without reason,

she wanted to say, because now when she thought about her words of before, they seemed unnecessarily harsh. And with this state of contentment they had carefully wrought and gently woven their way to, avoiding pitfalls of betrayal and displays of jarring tempers and politics, they really seemed pointless as well.

But then it was there again; the thought of Robin, the slight discomfort-

"I meant what I said," she said.

To her surprise, a flash of what could have been acceptance darted across his face. He tightened his grip around her fingers.

"I know." He paused, and lowering his eyes continued, "and if I weren't so concerned about you, I might have done something to change it all long ago. Maybe I could do with some of your wilfulness." The wan smile he gave her was like a pale streak of sunlight on a misty day. She suddenly felt warm and less confused.

"I could not afford to have you borrow it from me though," she said, and the teasing made her content enough to settle on his shoulder, a place where sleeping had become an unexpected habit. Guy's arm looped around her waist. Its proximity to the Nightwatchman scar was no longer unsettling, now that this imprint of his dagger no longer flared as dangerously with the memories of betrayal as before, and now that they had restored much of the damage its revelation had caused.

Occasionally though, on the days when she allowed the cause and England to pull her to the forest, she still felt its presence, deep and throbbing, in her side.

* * *

In his dream, there were six of them.

They were large and hulking, their figures made formless by the surrounding darkness which half-swallowed them.

He wanted to run, but when they reached for his arms and his legs he felt his body slacken as if it willed him to play a submissive captive, like always in his dreams. Panic whirling in his chest, he twisted his head to see their black hands nearing Marian's face. This time, when he commanded his clenched fist to move, it did.

He awoke to see the dark silhouette of man staggering back.

After the first moments of confusion, the panic became a heavy rock in his throat. Even in the shallow moonlight, there was no mistaking the livery of Prince John's guard. _Marian_. He turned around to see her still fast asleep, and before he could direct the overwhelming instinct to protect her into an offensive with all his strength, he felt several pairs of hands shackle him and drag him off the bed. Even though they hadn't approached her yet he was frantic, his shouts of "Don't touch her!" accompanying him to the doorway as he was shoved along, arms and legs flailing and kicking without effect. It was then that she awoke.

She blinked a few times and instantly reached for the sword hanging beside his belt.

"Marian, no!" he shouted. A hand clamped his mouth and his last sight was of two guards restraining her before she could grab the weapon.

Her furious shouts followed him out into the night.

As he was dragged away to God knew where, the chill midnight air cold on his bare skin, he prayed and prayed that Prince John's idea of punishment did not involve retaliating through one's family.

* * *

The floorboards echoed with her anxious pacing. The sun was already a bleeding orange semicircle on the horizon and he hadn't returned yet. With every second, the conviction that he would was lessening, but it did not keep her from regularly glancing towards the entrance of the manor.

She had tried to follow the men as they dragged Guy off into the darkness, but the remaining guards had been forceful, though not violent. One of them had come forward and told her there was no need for her to go and complicate things while her husband had his audience with prince John. He had added then, more politely, that Guy would be likely to return soon. They had left with a warning that the manor would be guarded, and that any attempt at escape would only make matters worse.

She felt her ire rise and recollections of a month ago, of when the Sheriff had sent off Guy to the prince, swarmed her mind.

That night Guy hadn't come home, and she had been worried for he never stayed at the castle since their marriage. She had reasoned the fiasco with the Irish brothers must have kept him, and had thought little of it until another night had come without word or a message from him. She had then decided to find out for herself.

When she did, she nearly had fallen over from the combination of shock and anger.

Many hours had passed before she returned to the manor that night, Allan at her side. She did not sleep in the remaining ones before dawn. The knowledge of Guy being on his way to what probably was his death had spun again and again through her mind until she felt she could no longer bear the restlessness. If it hadn't been for Allan's common sense, she might have done something reckless.

The days which followed had been long. She wandered aimlessly through them, alternating between worrying and thinking, worrying and thinking. Before the idleness started, she had tried to make arrangements for visiting London, because as long as the news of a death did not come, she had hope. But with no one to accompany her and Vaisey's determination to keep her at home, she hadn't gone far. She had then even ventured to ask Robin for help. He had refused and told her plainly he did not understand why she worried so much for a husband who was not supposed to be her husband in the first place.

Her mind had pondered over this implication as well, because even though she knew she cared for Guy, she had not expected her anxiety to be this profound. But the more she thought, the more she realised that she could not look at things from the point of view of her previous life anymore. Guy was her husband, she was married to him. She had lived, slept, woken and eaten with him for weeks now and all these acts had unconsciously contributed to creating a closeness she wasn't sure she had fully grasped before now.

There were other things too, things she could no longer ignore. Even though she could not describe how she felt about their relationship, she could not deny that Guy tried to please her very often. The constant attention to what she liked and disliked, some occasional act which took her by surprise... it grated on her nerves at times, but more than often she felt flattered by his attention. The revelation of his past had also led her to look at him with greater understanding and sympathy, even though he remained in many ways an enigma to her.

But then life outside the manor would intrude, the reality of what he did for a living would sharply fall back in her awareness, and an argument would ensue.

The fact that he worked for a man like the Sheriff was a focal point for strain. It was where most of their disagreements stemmed from, and as long as she knew Guy intimidated people through violence and schemed against the rightful king during his daytime job, she could live under no illusions. She knew he felt no happiness or comfort in what he did, but as long as this conflict between his feelings and deeds would not change, she could not let herself be satisfied.

It was for this reason she had carried with her a spark of hope other than the one held for his survival. If Guy returned, his days as henchmen for the Sheriff would, she believed, be over.

A month had passed and he had finally returned. When he did, she had found it hard to believe the extent of her own relief.

She stared out now. Dawn had fully broken and the whole of Locksley was tinted bronze. Half an hour more, she told herself, and if by then Guy hadn't returned she would see to it that the obstinate guard at her door could be persuaded enough to lead her to Guy. But then fear took hold of her, and when she thought that the longer she waited, the greater the chances she would be led to a corpse instead of a living, breathing form, she decided she could wait no longer.

It was when she reached down to the entrance of the manor to accost the guard that she saw Guy's drooping form arrive on a horse in the distance. She immediately felt the warm rush of relief spread through her.

She ran out to meet him.

"Where have you been? What happened?" she asked, her voice anxious.

He stepped off his horse and silently handed the reins to the stable boy. He was wearing something which did definitely not belong to him; a tattered jerkin.

Since no reply was forthcoming, she urged him again.

"Guy?"

This time he looked up. He only met her gaze for a moment before letting his eyes dart around. He swallowed.

"It was nothing-Prince John only wanted to discuss something small with me."

He moved as if to brush past her, and she immediately grasped his wrist. If he thought he could flee to somewhere away from her scrutiny, he was wrong.

"Either the prince is an idiot who doesn't know one can wait till the morning for discussing small matters, or you are lying."

The remark made him go rigid, and she suddenly felt grateful that he hadn't been endowed with the art of evasion. For a moment it looked as if he were about to relent, but then she saw a familiar obstinance flicker in his eyes.

"Marian...this doesn't concern you. Say what you like, but there are things you'd be better not aware of."

And with that, he swept towards the manor, leaving her retort frozen on her lips. An uneasy combination of anger and dread swirled her thoughts towards the assumption that she was losing him again now that a new master had arrived for him to swear fealty to.

After a change of shirts he was already hurling towards the exit, and she silenced the urge to press him for answers on his restlessness as well as the question of whether he wouldn't eat before he left. By now excitement and curiosity had already scattered over her pique and when she remembered that through her persistence she could manoeuvre him towards giving the answers she required, she felt her confidence grow.

She almost didn't hear him say something to her.

"What?"

"You'll have to be at the castle within an hour. Prince John will be arriving soon and it wouldn't do to not welcome his arrival." He moved to the table to pick up an apple. "He'll take it as a sign of disrespect."

"And what if I don't want to welcome him?"

When he moved closer and gently took hold of her shoulders, she was unsettled by the panicked look on his face.

"Marian, I know what you feel about him, but you must know he is not a man to be trifled with. He's unpredictable and...dangerous. Even more than the Sheriff." She swallowed at the worry evident in his eyes. His grip on her arms tightened. "Do not give him cause to do something against you. If not for my sake, then for yours." His next word came out as something tremulous, almost fearful.

"Please."

She was only dimly aware of the sound of the door closing and the echoes of his steps diminishing as he left.

* * *

She wouldn't come. It had first been a vague suspicion, but now as second turned into minute and his blasted thoughts turned more and more acrid, it began to seem more than likely. She loved to defy orders, he knew that, and sometimes he even admired that quality in her. Now though... now he just hoped common sense would overcome her urge for rebellion.

He kicked at a tiny pebble on the stone floor. Maybe he should have told her. It had after all been him after the discovery of her Nightwatchman scar who had proposed that they wouldn't give lies and deceit a chance again. But he hadn't lied, had he? He had merely concealed something from her, and even though it made him uncomfortable, he persistently tried to reason it was for the best.

He glanced at the gate again. He was reluctant to admit to himself that something deeper was troubling him, not just that Prince John had ordered him to murder a man he had served for years. Guy felt the task carried with it an enormous amount of uncertainty- he could succeed and he could fail, and even if the deed was done, what would it mean for him? The prince had after all promised him nothing, and even if he were granted power, he would have to confront Marian over what he had done. The thought of this made him more uncomfortable than anything else.

"So when's 'e coming, Giz?"

Guy stopped his fervent pacing at Allan's question and turned around. Allan was essentially no longer in his service as he himself was essentially no longer master-at-arms. Still, there were old bonds which tethered the former outlaw to his service in some ways, rather than the Sheriff's, and for that he was grateful.

"I don't know...anytime." He couldn't prevent the annoyance from creeping in his words. He was edgy, and he wished to be alone.

"Isn't Marian gonna-"

"Go get her, Allan." He should have thought of this before. "God knows what-"

He was stopped mid-sentence by the sound of clattering hooves. He whirled around.

"There won't be any need for that", Marian said as she swung her leg over the horse and deftly settled on the ground.

She gave him a warm smile, and all of a sudden the roaring fire of his inner turbulence was reduced to a low simmering. He wished he could freeze such moments for safekeeping.

But then there was a host of clattering hooves near the portcullis and, behind him, more than a dozen nobles flocked out of the castle doors to gather on the courtyard steps. The trumpets sounded and Prince John and his retinue swept in.

* * *

Marian was chafing at the chance to go out and meet Robin. Initially there had been only curiosity related to the prospect of meeting Prince John, curiosity about whether he did justice to the mental image she had of the leader of the Black Knights, and she had been surprised to find a man whose attitude bordered on the lackadaisical and the ridiculous.

But then the first matter of interest had arrived in the form of several dozen coffers, and judging by the heavy panting of guards who carried them in, she realised they had to be filled with something valuable. The reasons of the prince's visit were still unclear to her, but she knew it had to do with something more than berate the Sheriff for the horrible state of affairs the Black Knights found themselves in.

It was then, as she traipsed through the Great Hall, idly going over its decorations, that she remembered that Guy had had something important to hide about his visit to the rince. And that this could possibly be an answer to her questions, and she needed to know it immediately.

Exhilarated, she swiftly headed to the door and hurried to where she thought Guy would most likely be found.

* * *

Marian didn't find Guy where she had thought he would be. His chambers were empty and, suspiciously, so was the council room. After some deliberation, she headed to the Sheriff's quarters. She walked carefully, hugging the shadows of the walls. Recollections of the days she used to do this more often pounded through her, and with it a searing thought of how much everything had changed, how much she had changed.

When she reached the end of the hall, she was startled by the creaking of a nearby door as it opened. To her horror, the Sheriff's head appeared followed by that of the prince. As her heart quivered with the risk of discovery, she swiftly moved away from the circle of flickering torchlight and ducked in a nearby alcove. She held her breath as her mind tripped and flicked over a dozen excuses, none of which sounded convincing enough. If Vaisey caught her here now, when the political temperature in Nottingham was so high, there was no telling what he would do.

To her relief, the sound of their boots and conversation started to fade as they went down the opposite hallway.

But then, just as questions over their clandestine meeting started to crawl in her mind, a hand clamped over her mouth. If it hadn't been for the firmness of its grip, her scream would have echoed through the hallways.

* * *

She spun around, fiercely.

"Guy!"

From where he stood she could hardly make out his expression; the torchlight highlighted very little of him. But she could already picture his face, tight-lipped and wrought with suspicion. A spark of flames briefly illuminated his eyes.

In the next instant, she felt his hands on her wrists.

"What are you doing here?" he said, his voice something between a grumble and a hiss.

It was not hard to assume what he was thinking. Her history of spying and night-time activities had afforded him the inclination to be suspicious, although such wasn't always the case. _Certainly not always_, she thought as she recalled the countless times she had gotten away with leaking information to the gang behind his back. She felt a sudden, sharp sting of guilt but it effaced just as quickly. For now she was guilty of nothing except for probably being too concerned about his whereabouts.

"I was looking for you," she said, injecting a note of reprimand in her response and disengaging her wrists from his too firm grasp. And then it dawned upon her suddenly, the question of why she had found him hidden in a dark corridor and most likely observing the room where the prince and the Sheriff had been a few moments ago.

"What are _you _doing here?"

At her question he immediately tensed, limbs poised like those of a sentinel. He crossed his arms, almost defensively, and let his gaze skitter away from her face. He said something, but she could make out nothing of the incoherent mumble except for some vague suggestion that he had come here to meet the Sheriff.

She leaned in closer to him. Then covered his hand with hers.

"Guy, things might be better if you confide in me," she said softly. There was an ambiguity to the words, and she tried not to dwell on it. "After all, wasn't it you who proposed we should put an end to the secrets between us?" The jab she felt now was undoubtedly one of guilt._Hypocrite_. Jab. _Hypocrite_.

His response to her touch was, like always, immediate and she felt a sudden triumph when his face mellowed as he contemplated her words. Growing determined, she placed her hand on his face and then gently, as if in a movement to swipe away his worry, caressed his cheek with her thumb.

It was so familiar, doing this. It was so effective, playing this game of manipulation, and even now she could keenly feel that sense of dexterity at handling situations like these running through her, like an encouraging force. She moved an inch closer. This whole way of coaxing answers out of him was very much like the past, but marriage had lend a new intimacy to it, a closeness she had been hesitant to use before. And if she admitted it to herself she often felt grateful for this, grateful that touching Guy didn't brand her with a sense of disloyalty to Robin anymore. And probably even more so that she no longer needed to condemn the enjoyment she derived from his touch. She _liked_ touching him.

By now the expression in his eyes had softened and then she saw his lips part as if to answer. Her heart thudded louder in anticipation of what he was about to say. _This is deception, _she thought,_ this is deception. _She almost shook her head to ward off the thought. She was doing this for the greater good. For England. To add to this oft-used balm for salving her conscience, she told herself that in truth, she was asking because she was concerned about Guy as well.

"I-", he started, and she felt anxious enough to try and pull the answer out of him. But then suddenly he inhaled sharply, removed her hand from his face and shook his head. He blinked and shook his head again, and she had never seen him look so disoriented.

He took a step back and, without meeting her eyes, swiftly made for the concealing shadows of the hallway, until he was swallowed by the darkness of the corridor.

She didn't call out to him. She was far too baffled to even think of doing so.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

If it weren't for the odious company, Marian might have tried to enjoy the trip to Locksley. As it was, she found herself riding at the side of the prince's carriage, who had insisted upon having her company. A few other nobles had joined them and she could judge from their manners that they were those most prone to sycophantry. Prince John craved adoration, she had learned that by now. At the dinner feast flattering remarks and avowals of loyalty had been delivered with the same urgency and necessity as the task of refilling his goblet, and to her surprise, the Sheriff had carried a facade of genial host most diligently.

Guy had, however, retained his inscrutable morosity. She glanced over at him, to where he was riding a few paces behind. His gaze seemed unfocused, distant. Just when she was about to withdraw her stare, he lifted his eyes and looked at her and for some reason, her proximity to the prince's carriage suddenly seemed unnerving.

She tugged at the reins and pulled the horse a bit to the side. She had not spoken much to Prince John so far; the noblewomen who had flocked to his attention were numerous, and it had thankfully allowed her to stay on the sidelines. If it hadn't been for Vaisey's jeering introduction just before their departure to Locksley ("_the Lady Gisborne my lord - you can see that if nothing else Gisborne at least has good enough eyes in his head to choose the pretty ones_") she might even have stayed unnoticed.

She ran her palm over the horse's mane. Staying unnoticed, she thought, would have suited her temperament and avoided the need to act pleasantly civil to a man she already hated. The recollection of Prince John's guard dragging Guy away in the middle of the night still burned in her mind, and added to this was the knowledge that this man schemed against his own brother and was the leader of the now disbanded Black Knights.

When introduced, Prince John had acted delighted to meet her, kissing her hand and complimenting her in courtly fashion. _Lady Gisborne_, he had repeated then, but there had been something about the slow, deliberate way in which he said it, about his gaze which lingered just a fraction too long, which unnerved her. She had responded with a smile as tight and small as possible.

She dug her heels in the horse's side. The urge to be less than civil then had been great, but she had not forgotten Guy's warning of earlier.

Locksley was in sight now, and it looked familiar and welcoming. The water of the pond lay quiet under the glow of the warm midday sun and the smoke from a few cottage roofs gently unfurled and faded into the intense blue sky.

"These villagers attacked my decoy?"

She turned in her saddle to see an expression of baffled amusement on the prince's face.

"I wonder why," he drawled. "They look so_ lovely_."

She shifted in discomfort. Despite the casual tone of his words, she felt something chilling creep through them. As chilling as when he had coolly ordered his physician's death sentence for a self-concocted crime at the banquet.

"Tell me, are these villagers as lovely as they look?"

It took Marian a few moments to realise the question was directed at her. When she finally turned to look at Prince John, he was staring at her, his eyebrow inquisitively arched.

"The villagers?" She searched for an appropriate response. "They're good people, hardworking and efficient." The expression on Prince John's face turned into one of feigned bemusement, and she added, rigidly, "And they do their best to pay the taxes in time, however unreasonably large those may be."

One corner of the prince's lip curled.

"Indeed," he said, and turned to stare ahead again. Still keeping his eyes fixed on the track before, he then added: "I have noticed you seem rather cold in demeanour when it comes to me. Any particular reason?"

He spoke too casually for comfort and Marian's mind raced, wondering whether he was questioning her political affinities. But she then dismissed the thought; it was absurd to assume that someone who she barely had met a few hours ago would already have caught wind of such matters. She thought to provide him with the safest reason.

"You had your guards enter our home at night and take my husband away. I cannot say I was impressed."

Prince John frowned. "Of course, it was very foolish of them." He looked apologetic on their behalf. "I told them so. They misinterpreted my orders for having Sir Guy urgently called to me - it could have waited till morning."

Marian felt her heart give a sharp beat. What Guy was hiding only he and Prince John knew, and if she trod carefully, she might be able to extract something about it from the latter.

Taking a discreet glance at Guy before flicking her gaze back to the prince, she asked, as nonchalantly as possible, "I presume it is some small matter of business that you needed to discuss?

Though Prince John's face retained the same expression, she was certain she saw a glint of wariness pass through his eyes. "Yes, I had to inquire after the safest routes to Nottingham," he replied lightly.

His answer did not convince her in the least, but before she could find the suitable words to probe further, Prince John unexpectedly rose from his seat. He surveyed the scene before them with interest.

There was a large gathering of villagers before the church, with most of them were flocked around a central pair. A wedding was taking place.

The carriage beside her was ordered to a halt and Prince John stepped out. "I should like to go and meet them," he announced and, holding up a hand to a guard who made to follow him, began walking towards the place of ceremony.

By now many of the villagers had already noted the arrival of the entourage. A few stopped to stare, others animatedly carried on hauling and dragging heavy pots of food to the tables. From a distance she saw a small boy ran up to him, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands. She recognised him as the cobbler's son. To her wonder, the Prince flashed a radiant grin as he accepted the token and it wasn't long before the rest of the villagers had flocked closer.

Then an old man came forward and requested the Prince to bestow his blessings, and when he happily obliged and took to more genial smiling as the villagers went for the church she felt her concerns whither.

Relief had come too early. She realised this as soon as the last man disappeared behind the large oak door and the smile on Prince John's face vanished. His face changed into something cold. Something, she supposed, what royal tyrants looked like when they casually ordered executions as easily as though they were courses for dinner.

Then there came the cold order of having the church burned.

"You can't do this!"

She had shouted loud enough, but the sudden outburst of noise as the guards loudly scattered around the church allowed the Prince to pretend he hadn't heard. Frantic madness crept on her and she whirled around her horse to cast an imploring glance to the company around. Guy caught her eye, but immediately looked away, as though burned by her request. As though being her ally in such matters was, as always, too much to ask.

It wasn't long before red violent sparks blazoned on the roof. Beneath the heavy pounding of the villagers, the church door jerked.

Propriety was nothing now, didn't matter at all. She moved close to Prince John, close enough to make it impossible for him to ignore her.

"This does not befit a prince!"

He slowly met her eyes and then drew his brows together as if he didn't quite understand. "Why not?"

She stared at him in disbelief. Before a natural retort could take shape on her lips, however, there was a loud noise as the barricade of the door broke and the villagers, ashen and shocked, poured out. Prince John jumped from his seat, nostrils flaring.

"You have been punished for intolerable disloyalty to me, and for harbouring and assisting outlaws!" He paused, shuddering with anger. "May God forgive you!"

Prince John then sat down again, a flame of righteous indignation still burning in his eyes.

A tumult of shouts for water and hurried, disorganized running immediately followed, and his expression turned into one of annoyance. He jerked his head backwards and signalled towards the party behind him.

"Go on, stop them! They're not supposed to put the fire out!"

The guards dispersed with a loud thundering before she had even had the chance of speaking one word. It was something instinctive which made her glance a look at Guy, even though she knew gauging his reaction was not something a situation like this demanded.

He sat ramrod straight on his horse but his hands fumbled with the reins. The Sheriff galloped away from his side towards the church and his uncertain gaze followed. She again saw him teeter on that precipice which had the wrong choice at its bottom.

The prince's voice then drawled a questioning "Gisborne..." and there was a bitter twisting in her chest when she saw him shift in the saddle as if to move. He didn't even look at her.

She realised that at this moment, she would not be able to cope with his fall.

"Do you want them to love you?" she said, an angry tremor breaking through her words. Once again Prince John looked up at her, completely nonplussed.

She didn't wait for whatever ridiculous self-indulged answer he would come up with. She didn't care what he had to say and she didn't care that she might be close to testing the ends of his patience. She would much rather run off and do something about this whole mess, like helping the villagers with the buckets of water, but for the moment she had enough sense to overcome her intense feeling for immediate action.

"A man in your position should be looking for devoted subjects, not people who will look at you with hatred." She saw him ponder over this and continued with assurance: "If you have any hope of being respected as a king, it is better to treat them with kindness, not needless tyranny of this sort." A light lit in his eyes at the mention of kingship. He looked at her, moderately attentive.

"What would you propose I do?"

"Order your guards to pull back. Help them put the fire out."

Lazily stroking a finger over his beard, Prince John turned his head to survey the ongoing chaos at the burning site. The upper part had already fallen in and what remained of it was a solid black mess.

"Alright," he said after an agonising length, and then turned towards Guy. "Go, give them orders to stop. All of this has ceased to be entertainment anyway."

She wasted no time in jumping down from her saddle and made towards the pond where the villagers were frantically loading buckets with water. On her third round the bucket handle broke and seeing a replacement in a cooking utensil lying abandoned at some distance, she went towards it. When she bent to pick it up she heard a horse nicker just behind her. She did not bother to turn around.

"You can go. I'm sure your prince requires you more."

As if to answer her question Prince John's voice called out, ordering to move back to Nottingham. Guy curtly replied that he would be following soon.

There was a thud on the ground and then the crunch of leaves beneath boots as he came nearer. Marian kept her back towards him because for now she felt him to be even beneath her contempt. When his fingers brushed her arm, she had the iron-hard impulse to move away. She knew what was coming and she didn't want to have any of it.

"Marian..." he murmured and then pulled at her arm to gently swivel her around. She only let him so that he could see how she seethed, how she burned because of his weakness.

The apology was prepared to dart out of his mouth and collide with her objections but then the strong scent of smoke assailed her and she felt the fraying ends of her patience come to an end.

"What?" she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "If you have any explanations you can spare them. I'd rather go and help those people."

Her words were like a lash and intended to hurt, but she found that the effect they had on him did not please her. Guy retreated a step and his whole body was suddenly fraught with tension. "I-you don't..." he started, and then winced when the right words did not come to him. When she saw the dark, distraught look in his eyes she realised this was not just about the fire.

Unconsciously her features softened and the sounds from the site of destruction seemed to dim.

Guy's gaze strayed beyond her and then, at a certain point, froze. She turned to look. A few yards away, the Sheriff was sitting atop his horse, casually flicking a glove against the rein. He was staring at them in a way which made a spark of bitterness capture her heart still.

Guy was on his horse in an instant. "I'll send Allan to escort you," he said and then turned to gallop away in a cloud of dust.

* * *

The gang was here. She could see the movement of flashing limbs and earth-coloured clothes as they emerged from the canopy of the forest and she stopped, bucket in hand. Despite the heavy smell of charred wood and the distraught cries of people around, a smile crept to her face.

They reached the pond in a moment, Robin and Much at the front. The others had their weapons drawn and cast alert looks around, but when convinced that there was nothing which required an offensive, lowered them. There were questions to be asked, and Much opened his mouth to voice them. One swift pull from Little John towards the pond brought to his notice the more urgent matter of dousing a burning church, and soon the whole gang was engaged in putting the fire out. Only Robin remained.

He walked over to where Marian had joined the long line of villagers.

"What happened?"

She granted him a brief glance before continuing with her task, hands working urgently as she filled a bucket with sloshing water.

"Prince John. He fancied setting some church on fire because the villagers here reportedly helped some notorious outlaws in ambushing his decoy."

Robin gave a sigh and muttered that it was to be expected, before disappearing into the blur of commotion.

When the fire had finally been put out it was obvious that nothing could be salvaged of the church. It stood there in a black carcass of soot and ash and charred wood and only now after the tumult of the fire had died down she felt a pang of painful familiarity. Knighton. The church had not been her house, but its burned remains would always carry some small, unwanted memory of that other place long in ruins.

A light touch on her shoulder called her to attention.

"You know, even with your hair wild and your face smudged you look beautiful."

She turned to stare directly at the grin on Robin's face. It was a familiar grin, it turned the corners of his mouth and showed a flash of teeth the way she knew, but it lacked something. In the past when he grinned like this (and she wondered how he could do it so often, as though nothing ever made him worry enough) it had always made the maddening tangles of her thoughts and her anxieties loosen. The impact of it never lasted too long (reality was cruel and ready to pounce on her) but for a moment it made everything look easier, made the idea of a better future look less unlikely.

But then she married Guy, and passing over the crevices of Robin's feelings, the grin could not even contain a gleam of what it formerly held.

She didn't say anything to him because compliments now felt as strange as grins, and she could think of nothing to say. His hand lifted towards her face and she held her breath. The past was now a shore washed over by great, great waves. Even if he didn't, couldn't accept it, she knew they could never return to it. And giving him any reason to feel that they could would be cruel.

Robin's hand paused in the air when she whipped her head to the right to pass a fleeting, meaningless glance over the smoke laden scenery around.

A moment passed. His hand retracted.

"How did you know the church here was on fire?"

She could summon enough courage to look at him now. The smile had disappeared and in its place there was something both bitter and wistful. Something that spoke of distance._ 'So it will only be business between us' _he had said. No, she had wanted to say, not business alone because she still had feelings for him. But standing there on the eve of her marriage in the silent spot of the forest she had only been able to pluck the leaves from her hair as his anger grew and her arguments crumbled. Over the days she had seen him move away, farther and farther, like a ship which set out sail and turned to a blue silhouette on the horizon, barely recognisable.

"Much saw the smoke," he muttered, twisting the tip of his bow in the ground.

"Much? It's a surprise he observed something." The humour did not reach the words as she intended. Robin kept digging his bow in the ground. They both knew well it was no surprise that Much had observed the smoke, he was not a heedless man. Much was just something to make it less about themselves.

"I'm sure Gisborne turned blind when John set fire to the church. He would have protested otherwise, no?"

He had stopped fiddling with his bow. He looked up at her, bitterness clouding his eyes.

"Guy-," she started and thought of words which would not lead to worse things. She would not defend her husband, he did not deserve it now, but she didn't like how Robin turned his limping morals and shortcomings into a knife to hurt with. Even now she could hear the words around her, mocking and unforgiving- _your choice_.

She blurted it out before she had the chance to think it over twice.

"Guy is up to something."

"When is he not."

"It's - it's different. Prince John has ordered him to do something, I'm sure of it, but whatever it is, it is troubling him." She took a deep breath. "He won't tell me."

There was a mirthless chuckle. "So it turns out he doesn't trust you as much as you thought."

If there was a suitable retort ready on her tongue, it abandoned her. There were many moods of Robin which she could handle, or at least counter with an angry argument, but this was not one of them. This one stung, irritated like a chafing cord and had an accusation dwelling in every word spoken. It was as if those precious pieces of friendship and feeling they both retained were only a part of her illusions when he was like this. She needed them to be real.

She felt her eyes well up with tears. She had tried to stop things from going this far, but now they were falling there was an odd sort of relief. If anything, they would at least show that she had feelings. That unlike what the men in her life tended to believe, she could hurt.

The long grass muffled the thump of Robin's bow falling to the ground. She had brought her palms to her eyes now (because crying still made her feel little) and soon she could hear his feet shuffling closer. He gently tugged her near.

"Marian," he said softly and sounded sorry.

The arms which came around her were like a resort of comfort. She shivered and let the air tremble in her lungs. Crying solved little, she was aware of that, but for now she needed to. There were so many unsettling feelings and tumultuous thoughts crammed in her that not giving them occasionally an outlet would make her mad she felt.

They stood like this for a while, cocooned in some warmth that she at least could consider friendship, if nothing else. Eventually her tears dried and through a glance over Robin's shoulder she saw the gang, patiently waiting by the fence-posts.

"We have to go," she mumbled. "Allan might come for me soon and I discovered a few things at the castle I need to tell you about."

Robin stepped back and looked at her. With castle matters and Prince John now on her mind, she felt more composed.

"Let's go to the camp then," he said, and signalling the gang to follow, they started making their way towards the forest canopy.

* * *

"So, who wants to play a victim of scrofula?"

Marian's question was met with the suddenly uninterested faces of the gang members. Much recalled that the bottom of a pot needed to be scraped clean, Little John pretended to haven't heard and the others tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.

The entire planning had so far gone faultlessly. The gang already knew about the gold chests and had correctly guessed what Prince John meant to do with them. The banquet to be held tonight could serve as a reasonable distraction to get them out of the castle. The perfect opportunity of entering unsuspected presented itself when Djaq recalled that the physician had talked of Prince John searching for a case of scrofula. Marian suggested she could get Palmer, the physician, to help them- he would certainly prefer the idea of escape to meeting the noose. When she next proposed she would try and locate the chests to save time, she could see Robin turn rigid for a second but he did not speak.

Djaq cleared her throat.

"I'll be making and administering the potion, one of the men should volunteer. I think-"

"It obviously can't be me". The grating sound stopped as Much dropped the utensils. "I mean I'm sure this-this _brew_ will have blisters appearing on the skin because that is what happens when someone has scrofula. Or at least that is what I have heard what happens when someone has scrofula and well, I've got a beard and a beard might obscure the blisters, so yes, that cancels me out. " Swallowing, he took a look around. "And John of course, and Robin, because they too have got beards." His gaze settled on Will. "That leaves us with Will. Yes, Will it must be. He's the only one without a beard." He ended with a convinced nod as though this settled everything.

There was a silence during which Will attempted to hide behind the shelter of the bedcurtains.

Robin, who had listened in amusement, eventually conceded to the logic of Much's argument.

"He's right," he shrugged. "Will?"

Will hesitated. Looked at Djaq and saw the encouragement on her face. He slowly nodded his assent.

"Fine. I'll do it."

Djaq rewarded him with a beam of a smile.

* * *

The seconds and minutes were pooling too quickly into wasted hours, and the light which picked out and settled on the edges and faces of the castle stones was already of a deep afternoon sun. Prince John had given him no deadlines, had whispered no threats of punishment if the Sheriff wasn't cold before the day was out, but Guy knew that every moment passed where his task remained unfulfilled, disapproval brewed.

He found his hand wandering towards the dagger he had concealed under his coat. He couldn't recall how many times he had by now let himself touch it to gain some false sense of security. And it both unsettled and frustrated him, that even now with the Sheriff's betrayals dancing as encouraging incentives before his eyes he still could not summon the righteous flame of anger or the will that this task required. The Sheriff had not been the least bothered about sweeping the knowledge of all of his past loyalties in a corner and sending him towards an almost certain death. That he should even feel slightly morally compromised now was ridiculous.

Perspiration trickled down his back as he continued staring at the closed door a few metres away. He had followed the Sheriff here to his quarters here after a questioning look from Prince John on the return journey to Nottingham had filled him with a need to at least do _something_. He knew he could have gone inside and done the task there and then, but the door which had closed upon him had seemed a barrier as strong and unyielding as his own lingering anxieties.

There was a scraping sound from the inside. When the door was jerked back with a creak, Guy's heart lurched.

The Sheriff stepped outside, his face cast in an inscrutable shadow. He set out to make for the door next to the staircase, but then he suddenly stopped and turned around.

Though all rational thought told Guy that with the darkness and protruding wall of the alcove there

was hardly a chance of being spotted, there was an unshakeable feeling that the Sheriff could sense him. The silence stretched and dragged. Amidst the concentration on keeping his breathing still, he could make out the Sheriff's arm going towards the side of his belt. Something glinted in the quivering torchlight.

Guy thought his heart would ram through his ribcage as footsteps, slow and steady, began making their way towards him. If he didn't know better he would have questioned what demonic omniscience the Sheriff possessed to know where he was, but in the way he stalked closer and closer there was artful calculation- the calculation of someone who could read every flicker of thought or intention of his quarry. Guy had spent sixteen years living under the Sheriff; if his employer could decipher every shadow and corner of his mind, it was no surprise.

There was a moment where the Sheriff stopped and peered in the darkness. It was enough to cause a barrage of thoughts, half-formed and incoherent, to pour through Guy's mind. Was there something credible to offer as an excuse? What if the Sheriff was swift and the chance for giving excuses didn't even come?

Suddenly, the recollection of Marian standing here earlier in the day came to him and the zigzagging course of his mind settled on one plan of action. Marian would not have hesitated. He had never seen her kill, but he knew she would not cower away if it were a rightful challenge.

He settled his hand on the dagger's hilt and cautiously drew it out. There was a sound from the friction of belt and steel, very small but very much unwanted. In the seconds that followed he was only aware of the solid intention written on the Sheriff's face, the panic which stuck as a boulder in his chest and then the sudden jerk of a stiff door opening.

In the doorway, stood Allan.

His mouth opened to speak, but then closed as he saw the Sheriff turn on his heel in alarm and take a step away from the shadows of the wall. Guy saw the Sheriff's hand swiftly retract, and then, as discreetly as possible, restore the dagger to its cover. Allan seemed not to have noticed him.

"Allan," the Sheriff said, and turned on his heel.

Allan shuffled on his feet.

"Eh...did I interrupt something?"

"Interrupt something?" The Sheriff shrugged in mock wonder. "What have you come to tell?"

Allan was swift to take up the diplomatic stance the question offered.

"It's the prince. He said he wanted to have a word with you before the guests arrived."

There was a long silence before the Sheriff replied.

"Of course. Let us go, can't have our royal guest waiting for long. They tend to whine too much otherwise."

The Sheriff disappeared from view and Guy's tension alleviated with an audible exhale. It was when he stepped out of his cover of darkness that he saw that Allan was still standing by the door, eyebrows drawn in confusion and gaze fixed on him. Guy noticed he still had his dagger gripped in his hand.

The suspicion on Allan's face was masked as soon as Guy returned the stare, and he swiftly turned and went out. Guy pocketed the dagger silently, and followed.

* * *

"Scrofula? Indeed?"

Prince John stopped midway his pacing of the hall to look at Marian with happy excitement.

"Your physician claims so."

His face fell.

"Of course that rat will say anything to save his neck," he muttered, sprawling himself on the Sheriff's chair.

"It seems that Palmer wanted to inform you of this before we left for Locksley." She kept her tone clipped and aloof and smoothed the sleeve of her gown. "May I remind you, your highness, you had him sent for the dungeons before he had the chance to fully present his case."

The question that came next surprised her.

"Are you angry with me?"

Prince John rose from his chair and made his way towards her. His brows were creased.

"I'm sure that whatever a woman like me feels or thinks does not matter to you, my lord," she replied indifferently and then took a step back. His proximity repulsed her.

To her dismay, the prince moved closer and rounded her side. When he next spoke, she could feel the breath of his voice on her ear.

"Your opinion matters very much to me, Lady Gisborne. Particularly if there is a chance of us becoming more...," Leaning closer, he placed his hand under her chin. "...acquainted with each other in the future."

Composure thrown aside, she wrenched herself free and stared at him, incredulous and agitated. He played the part of the pantomime so well that for a moment she had difficulty discerning what he truly meant, but then the suggestive curl of his lip brought to her mind the warning Guy had given her in the morning. She realised, with a sudden wave of nausea, that this man would have no scruples even when it would come to married women.

Trembling with anger, she was about to reply when the doors of the hall swung open and the Sheriff and Guy entered.

There was no time to reduce the closeness between herself and the prince, and as it was, the expression on the Sheriff's face turned to one of sardonic amusement. Behind him, Guy's eyes widened. The anger and shock swirling there was enough to have her hastily retreat a few steps.

Prince John turned around, completely unruffled, to face the Sheriff.

"Yes?"

"You called me my lord- I believe."

"Oh yes, I recall. It's a shame to have interrupted me while I was enjoying the delightful company of Lady Marian, but," he turned and gave Marian an unsettling look, "I'm sure we'll be able to resume our conversation later."

The three pairs of eyes sent a prickly uneasiness creeping under her skin, but even though she felt the anger wounding around her tighter and tighter she couldn't find anything appropriate to say in the silence. She whirled around and strode to the door, hoping the gesture was disrespectful enough. For emphasis, she banged the door on her way out.

Outside, while standing under the latticed shadows of the tree overhead, it occurred to her she hadn't even tried to find out what it was the men were about to discuss. She slumped against the bark, too weary to go back.

* * *

An hour later, Guy found her in the same place, sitting beneath the tree.

He stood behind her uncertainly for a few moments, but she remained oblivious to his presence until he spoke.

"Marian."

Looking up, she calmly met his gaze.

"Will you walk with me?"

He had

expected her to refuse, and had already prepared himself for her reply. She never relented easily after they had an argument, and after what had happened in the Great Hall, she would not be glad to take up conversation with him.

When she nodded her assent, it was the first time that day he came close to catching a drift of happiness.

Sounds of restless neighing and harrumphing came from the overcrowded stables

as they passed. Marian considered pulling her arm out of Guy's for a moment to go inside them, wondering whether her mind would find some peace from the familiar noise. But then this confusion would not be cleared up, and if it didn't, it would matter to her.

They stopped where the stables ended. The bits of straw beneath her feet were uneven but soft. There was no one in sight.

Guy turned to her, a tender look in his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked

softly.

She nodded, at a loss of what to say. Her gaze wandered to the distant arc of the castle gate.

"What did Prince John want of you?" He was cautious and it made her bold enough to blurt out exactly what the Prince wanted of her.

"Get acquainted with him in his bedroom, that is what he wanted of me."

She could see how his gloved hands clenched in fists.

"That man is..." The rest of his insult disappeared behind the hand he pressed against his mouth. She recognised it as a sign of stress, but even then she could not help needling him. She had not forgiven him for what had happened at Locksley just yet.

"That man is what? Someone who you want see become the king of England? A man who you are ready to obey and swear loyalty to?"

Guy gave a slight shake of his head and then gently took her by the shoulders. She lifted her face to look him in the eyes, and then immediately wished she hadn't. As always in such moments between them, his gaze was too intense, too tender. And, as always, she found it hard to remain unaffected.

Her coldness slipped away from her grasp.

"Marian, I do not wish to argue about _politics_ right now," he said and sighed the word as though he was sick and tired of it. "I just wanted to say that if-" He tilted his head downwards and it struck her how strange it was that even now he could appear as flustered as in the days when he courted her. "-that if he tries to do _anything_ to you, he will have me to deal with."

She tried to look sceptical but did not succeed. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was the depth of Guy's feelings of her. It had been easier to dismiss them in past days, back when she could still tell herself that focusing on such matters would make everything much more complicated.

Since marriage, it had been harder to do. The strange combination of tenderness, love and possessiveness he expressed threatened to overwhelm her at times, and often left her reeling in the uncertainty of her own emotions. It sometimes made her feel as though she were a blossom caught in the wind, and then she would get angry at herself for losing control, and try to create some distance between herself and him.

But now, as his arms hesitantly came to embrace her, she did not move away. The easy, relaxed way he held her was comforting, and she found herself leaning into his embrace.

"Everything will be fine," she heard him mutter, and it sounded as if he were speaking as much to himself as to her. His fingers tangled in her hair. "This will work out, all of this, and - and we will be happy."

It pained her to hear how much he believed - how much he _tried_ to believe- this.

"We will have children and-" she could feel herself tense and he bent his head to look at her, "-everything will be fine."

Children. They did not talk about them often. She knew Guy was hopeful and anxious, she could judge it from the look he sometimes had on his face, from the questions he very occasionally asked her.

She knew it was why he was so intent on having security of power and money. He did not want his own past revisited by his children. But so much had rendered the past few months busy, almost tumultuous, that she had not had enough time to wonder much about it. And in truth it was a relief, for in the rare moments she thought of having children, imagined them living and growing up in the manor, she felt both curious and apprehensive. Sometimes even a tingle of warmth had been involved.

His hand wandered to her face and, lifting her head to meet his lips, she felt a familiar warmth spread through her. She sensed she both wanted and needed this, and clasping a hand around his neck she let, for a moment, all of her anxieties dissolve.

* * *

The evening came too soon. She paced the corridor in a way that she hoped was leisurely, and looked out at the descending blackness. The moon would shine bright tonight; its shape was already distinctive against the layered wisps of blue sky, and she could not decide whether a darker, more concealed world would have been better than the illuminated one she was seeing now. Robin and the gang were adept in stealth. It would have to do.

Her eyes strayed towards the passage, and she stood still for a few moments, waiting. _As soon as twilight falls_, they had said, but they weren't here yet, and she was beginning to worry now.

She reassured herself with the thought that everything else, so far, had at least gone without fault. Palmer had hardly had to be pressed for submitting to the plan; if anything, he had been more than grateful. She hadn't expected such similar luck in finding the gold coffers, but with the castle a bustling and busy place in preparation of the evening dinner, matters had been much easier. Everyone was too occupied to pay her any attention, and when she had seen a more than average number of guards near the chapel room, slipping inside to confirm her suspicions hadn't been difficult; she'd had that advantage ever since becoming Lady Gisborne. The small place behind the drawn curtains had been stacked full with chests.

A low hoot rankled the calm air. Marian abruptly halted her pacing and gave the alley a surreptitious glance. Only someone who expected to see movement there could spot the gang slowly creeping below.

The hushed whispers behind the small backdoor ceased when she neared it. She swung the door open and the five figures huddled beneath cloaks glanced up at her.

Robin dropped his hood.

"I was wondering where you had got to. You're late," she whispered, stepping aside to let them in.

"It took Djaq a bit longer to finish the potion than we expected." He nodded towards the last two cloaked shapes. "Will still has to take it."

They entered and Djaq withdrew a small flask from her belt. Opening it she held it out close to Will, who, Marian now noticed, was disguised in the tattered clothing of a peasant. He sniffed at the flask and scrunched up his face in mild revulsion.

"I added some berries in it, the taste shouldn't be so bad," Djaq said. Despite her assurance, her eyes glimmered with mirth.

Will sighed and then swallowed the contents in one quick gulp.

Marian scanned the courtyard and, grasping the folds of her skirt, moved forward. "Follow me."

* * *

She quickly filled them in on the details about the treasure chests on the way to the hall. Robin, Much and Little John would make their way to the chapel, retrieve the valuables and disappear through the trap door in the cloisters. In the meantime, Djaq and Will would stay in the Great Hall and try to keep Prince John occupied as long as possible with a villager's 'case' of scrofula. Knowing the prince's volatile temper, it was a dangerous task, and Will already looked pale and uncertain.

Once inside, they parted ways. Much and Little John disappeared with Robin behind a corner and Marian led Will and Djaq to the hall.

She paused a moment before crossing the treshold, but then steeled herself. She could do this. She had done many things over the years which had involved greater risks of discovery and yet, she was still here. Alive. Unharmed, and well. She couldn't prevent those memories of the barn though, of Guy removing her mask and the shock on his face, from stealing up on her for one frightening moment, but then she shook her head and stepped forward with greater deliberation. Even then she had known it was foolish to make her appearance as the Nightwatchman in the daytime and besides, what she was to do now was a wholly different matter. She wouldn't be masked, she would just be the Lady Gisborne.

The nobles were scattered around the room, standing together in groups of vivid dresses, waving goblets and animated conversation. Normally she would avoid being part of such company except for when the situation demanded, and because she loathed the insincerity of plastered smiles and useless pleasantries she more than often found an excuse to disengage herself. It had been welcome knowledge to find Guy's views on the subject were the same.

She manoeuvred her way through the crowd with her eyes set on the large chair at the head of the room. Prince John was seated in it, his manner more dignified than she had ever seen before. She wasn't surprised; he did after all hope to convince everyone in the room of his legitimate right of the throne tonight. A glance at the gaudy lavender robes of the man who sat beside and conversed with the Prince told her it wasn't the Sheriff. She uneasily scanned the surroundings for a sign of his presence. He was nowhere to be seen, and anxiety settled over her in one quick heartbeat.

When she returned her gaze to the chair she found Prince John looking at her, his teeth flashing in a radiant grin. Making an effort to return the gesture, she went towards him. She felt Djaq and Will's eyes on her, and rehearsed the words to set the plan in motion one last time.

It was when she had settled herself in a chair beside the Prince and waited for him to dismiss the flamboyantly dressed noble beside him that she realised that Guy too was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

She never knew for certain how she managed to slip away from Prince John's notice, but it could have been due to the solemn trance he had slipped into when Will's blisters were revealed. At the same moment she had seen Much appear and beckon her from an ajar door, but she was too anxious now to concern herself with this. She made a careful observation of her surroundings and then crept away.

There was trouble. She knew it from the second Much had signalled her. And sure enough, as soon as she stepped out of the hall and discreetly closed the door behind her, he burst out, "The chests aren't there."

_How could that be?_

She had seen them herself and unless_...It was possible_. There was no reason not to believe that the heavily guarded chapel room was to serve as a distraction and that she had been mistaken. She hadn't been able to check the contents of the chest there after all.

Much's face was already creasing in worry at her own changed expression, and before he could start with his onslaught of questions and make her give voice to her own fears, she swiftly started moving through the hallway.

"Let's go to Robin."

* * *

"But where could they be then?"

Robin ran one hand over his face and assessed his options. The vaults were an unlikely choice; they were too obvious a place and the successful raids of the gang in the past had rendered them unsafe. Then there was also the question of time to consider; the scrofula ploy was ingenious but there was no telling what would happen to Djaq and Will when the Prince didn't get the miraculous recovery he was hoping for. They hadn't prepared for this mishap.

Meanwhile, Marian felt mortification and a sense of inadequacy wash over her. It wasn't as if she had never failed in her role of spying before, but she couldn't recall when the price of failure had last been so high. The whole of Nottingham probably, let alone Locksley, could be practically fed with the worth of those gold coffers. She was too wrapped up in her own anxiety to even consider that she required to be back in the hall soon.

"Marian?"

She looked up to see Robin looking at her in a strange, contemplative way.

"Yes?"

"You said Gisborne was up to something...Do you think this could have something to do with it?"

As she watched the possibility grow on Robin's face, she was reminded of the strange absence of both Guy and the Sheriff in the hall. _Of course_. It was stupid of her to have forgotten about the matter which was bothering Guy, about the night where he had been dragged off at night in such a shameless hurry to Prince John's tent. Her attention had developed this precarious tendency to wander of late and it was alarming. Any other concentration had been too devoted to the chests...or the incident at Locksley. Or matters which focused on trying to make sense of her own feelings.

"I'll go and search in the Sheriff's room," she said, looking Robin straight in the eye. She wasn't sure if a protest was forthcoming, but even if there was, she would not listen to it. Something - intuition perhaps - told her she might find more than the gold coffers there. _Answers_.

"We'll go with you," he said.

"No, you won't." The words came out sounding harsher than she wanted, but she meant them. She needed to do this alone. "We're already left with too little time," she continued. "We had all better look in different places, and if anyone can check the Sheriff's room it is me. The guards won't raise an alarm at the first sight of me there."

Robin's brow furrowed for a moment but then he relaxed. He gave a calm shrug of his shoulders.

"Fine. Go."

His easy capitulation was unexpected, but with too little time on her hands, she chose not to consider it; the Sheriff's room waited.

* * *

The room was eerily quiet when she entered. Even stranger had been the complete absence of any guards in the hallway. She had already planned to use the pretext of needing to speak to Guy if someone stopped her, even though she wasn't sure he was there, she only suspected it. In the deserted passage, nothing loomed except for the quivering torchlights. She pressed her ear to the chamber door and, after listening carefully for any sound, she hesitantly opened it.

The room was empty. The only source of light was the shaft of moonlight, entering through the window and threading dark surfaces with silver. Her disappointment was even greater than the anxiety which welled up in her. She did not know what she had expected to find here, but she had at least hoped it would have been more than the unhelpful silence of the room, something which would at least give her a clue. She loathed not having answers.

Visits to the Sheriff's chamber in the past did not amount to a great number; Vaisey liked to keep the place under strict surveillance and Guy had always been adamant she should not accompany him there. Judging from what she could make out in the darkness, she could see it was simple, almost austere, with nothing to detract from its ordinariness but the large overhanging masses of the birdcages. Her attention was drawn to the numerous drawers and cupboards which lined the wall behind the massive oak chair and, almost unconsciously, her feet started moving towards them. Important documents and papers she had never had a chance to look at before would be kept there, she thought. And if she was here now, she had better make her presence useful.

The muffled thudding of boots above made her stop in her tracks. Feet frozen in an awkward position, she simply stood and stared at the door, too transfixed to move. Her ears, groping for a further hint of noise, caught the sound of footsteps gradually receding, even as her heartbeat accelerated.

She swallowed and moved to the door to listen more closely.

She had only taken a few steps when a stealthy figure crept in. Even as the shock jolted her dizzy, her hands mechanically produced the dagger which she kept hidden in her hair and, without thinking, she lunged forward. A moment later, she was thankful she had not screamed. Robin grabbed her quickly by the wrists before any damage could be done, and, steadying her against the stone wall, whispered it was him.

She could have killed him. Before, by accident, and now, deliberately.

"What are you doing here?" she spluttered in a rage.

He looked at her obstinately. "I couldn't just let you go off alone," he huffed.

The retort came to her lips but stopped there as suddenly she heard more footsteps in the hallway. Footsteps which were steadily making their way towards the Sheriff's room.

The breath left her as she stared for a moment at the panic reflected in Robin's eyes. She only managed to find her tongue when he made to move towards the door.

"Hide," she whispered. "If it's a guard or anyone else, I can distract them."

She did not have the time to see whether he obeyed. The footsteps were close now, too close, and she turned and faced the door with a schooled expression of innocent indifference even as her heart jumped madly. The less surprised she looked, the more convincing she could be.

The door opened. In its frame stood the broad black figure of Guy.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

__A/N: I deeply apologize for the delay in posting this last part. It's been sitting on my hard drive since ever but I kept on forgetting to put it up here.

* * *

_Previously:_

_The retort came to her lips but stopped there as suddenly she heard more footsteps in the hallway. Footsteps which were steadily making their way towards the Sheriff's room._

_The breath left her as she stared for a moment at the panic reflected in Robin's eyes. She only managed to find her tongue when he made to move towards the door._

_"Hide," she whispered. "If it's a guard or anyone else, I can distract them."_

_She did not have the time to see whether he obeyed. The footsteps were close now, too close, and she turned and faced the door with a schooled expression of innocent indifference even as her heart jumped madly. The less surprised she looked, the more convincing she could be._

_The door opened. In its frame stood the broad black figure of Guy._

* * *

When Guy had discovered Marian was the Nightwatchman the hurt had come immediately. There had been shock too, and - most particularly - _betrayal_. But even as the heavy avalanche of his emotions had crashed on him, and even as he had locked her behind a door and himself behind masks of anger and indifference, the rawest thing he had felt was pain.

Now, as he stood in the open door and looked at Marian, her wide guilty eyes, and the figure of Hood standing beside her, he did not know what to feel.

She opened her mouth and fumbled for words. _It is nothing Guy, really nothing. I was merely looking for you and found Hood here as well. I think it is time I returned to the dinner_, she would say and maybe he would just nod and say yes. Yes, and that he believed her and she probably should go down to dinner.

His hand scrabbled for the door handle. It slipped through his grasp and he groped for it again. When he found it, it was a phantom mass bent at awkward angles in his hand. It didn't feel real. For a brief, foolish moment he thought maybe nothing of this was real, because otherwise he would feel not so hollow.

He faltered in his step and Hood had his bow ready and drawn in a moment.

"Stay away, Gisborne."

At the spoken warning, Guy felt the ground attain a degree of solidness. The handle felt cold in his hand and, with sudden clarity, he saw his wife and his enemy standing before him. He trembled. From rage or weakness, he did not know.

"Marian?" he said, and her name did not seem to come from his own mouth.

She blinked and swallowed, and he stood transfixed, looking at the fear clouding her eyes. If there was an explanation, something he could grasp onto, _anything_, he would take it. He hadn't fallen into the red mist which hovered over ruin yet.

"Guy," she started, and took a tentative step forward. When she continued, he could hear how her voice wavered. "This is- this is not as you think, I came here to look for you and-"

"-and does that explain why _he_," Guy shot Hood a look of loathing, "is here with you?"

The anger was mounting within him now even as a bitter twisting seared through his chest, and he stumbled into his next question.

"Is this just about the Nightwatchman?"

He hated how he sounded more fearful than threatening. He had already faced her disloyalty in being an ally of Hood's cause, and over the course of their marriage and his betrayal at the hands of the Sheriff he had somewhat reconciled with her differing political views. But this was far more personal, because if she was with him - with Hood...

It took a few moments for the implication of his question to settle in. The light from the hallway cast Marian's features into sharp relief and he saw her eyebrows draw together in confusion, then rise as comprehension settled in. The blood pounded madly through his veins as he waited for her answer.

Hood's voice, sharp and hateful, cut through the silence.

"Get away from him, Marian. He's not going to believe anything."

His bow tightened in warning and Marian turned with an alarmed "No!"

Guy felt his temples starting to throb as the rage engulfed him. In the red mist he suddenly only saw the hateful silhouette of Hood standing there, of his enemy, who would take away from him everything he held dear-

He had taken out his sword before he knew it. He ached for an outlet for this black storm brewing within him, and right now he could only see this course of violence.

"Stop!"

Marian's voice echoed through his consciousness, and she was beside him in the next instant, a restraining hand placed on his arm. The muscles of his arm coiled under her touch. He did not know why he even bothered to obey her.

"Guy, listen to me!" She tightened the grip on his forearm even as her voice softened. "_Listen_ to me." He was about to jerk his arm away and demand her to answer his questions first, but something in her eyes made him stop. It was fear, and the only time he had seen her look this fearful was when he had entered her house in blinding rage, torchlight flaring in his hand, and with loud and harsh words, set fire to her home. He had regretted his rash actions later, and the thought of this made him stop now.

"You know how I feel about the Sheriff and what he does," she started, slow and tentative, even as he saw some determination coming back to her. His breaths were still coming in erratic bursts, but she could not have said something more suitable- in the past he would have bridled at the implication of such words (incriminating him as well, naturally), but now he felt her anger to be entirely directed at the Sheriff. A man who he hated, a man he intended to kill.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. They were startlingly bright in the gloom as she continued, "and being your wife will not - and has not - stopped me from doing what I had or have to do."

There was a touch of defiance as she spoke, and suddenly, unhelpfully, he was struck by a realisation, too acrid and unpleasant to keep himself in control. It wound its way back, stretching over all those past months and, clawing itself at the start, dragged all those memories, all those touches, all of the good things he believed he had scored in his marriage into one pitiful, soiled bundle. He shivered.

"You mean all this- this time you were," he paused in a shuddering breath, "working behind my back. _Betraying_ me." She took an involuntary step backwards and his gaze flitted from her to Hood. Guy could see his face marred by a bitter scowl, lips twisting around an unspoken retort. He closed his eyes; the throbbing in his head was now like the riotous chiming of endless bells.

"All this time, you were with him." He hated how unsteady his voice was.

A glow returned to Marian's eyes, and she raised her head a fraction in offended pride.

"Yes, I've been with him," she said. "I've been with him in helping the poor and working for the rightful king's cause. But I've _never..._," - there was a tremor in her voice - "done anything which would stain the marriage vows I took." Rightful anger and something of superiority seemed to swarm around her like an impenetrable shield as she haltingly continued, "But if you choose to think otherwise, then-then..."

The remainder of her words were lost in some intensity of emotion and Guy looked on, not knowing what to say. He was abruptly struck by how strange and mortifying the situation was. Here he was, exchanging words with Marian with a depth not previously encountered in their marriage, all the while as Hood stood watching them like a silent shadow, bow now slackened in his hands.

Guy tried, but the urge for violence did not come to him, and he felt the world tilting as he slumped against the wall. He did not know what to do. His thoughts and feelings were whirring, mad incongruities, and he felt himself being spun around by them. Around and around until he felt himself shackled to the walls of this endless circle. It was as if all this disorientation which had been hovering around him during the past days - during the past _weeks _- was now crashing over him with resolute force. A few minutes ago he had walked the castle passages, determined to kill the Sheriff; now...now he did not know what to do.

Hood's voice rang faintly through his ears.

"Marian, we have to leave."

Over the ceaseless thrumming in his mind and veins he saw Marian give Hood an incredulous look, then Hood repeating what he said with greater insistence, and Marian looking at him then at Hood and saying that she couldn't leave, she could not. Then suddenly, both stilled and stared out at the hallway visible through the gap in the door. When Guy made the effort, he could hear it too.

Some distance away, there was the clanking of armour on stone as the guard approached. Then the unmistakeable voice of the Sheriff rang out, ordering half of them to search in the above hallway and the rest to follow him.

Hood was pulling Marian towards the door in an instant. She protested, and reality suddenly jolted Guy into alertness. He did not know where the Sheriff had been hiding all this while, but Guy had suspected him to return to his chamber any time, which was why he had come here. In no scenario had he predicted he would end up discovering his wife and Hood in the room and now, with sudden clarity, he could see what would happen if they were found like this. Suspicions about himself aside, there was no way Marian would go unpunished.

"Go and create a distraction."

For a moment, he could not believe that the words had rolled off his tongue. Hood looked at him with disbelief, Marian as if she did not understand.

"You want to see her dead?" he growled. The clanging was becoming louder and louder and soon there would be no way of escape left. He shot Marian a look and, taking the hint, she cast an imploring glance at Hood.

At length he muttered "fine", and with a last, meaningful look at Guy, he disappeared out the door.

The seconds elapsed. And then, as the regular sound of boots on stone floor were replaced by cries of 'Robin Hood!' and the racket of wild action, Guy wondered at what just had passed.

* * *

Marian felt as though she were driftwood caught in the tide of Guy's force. She was swept out of the door into the hall, further and further along the passageway. The pressure of his hand on her wrist never ceased. Torchlights flew past her as bright, unsteady blurs as they moved, and all the while she worried that her shoes were hitting the stone too noisily, that Robin might be in danger, and that things were not likely to end well for herself.

It was only when they reached the stairs that Guy slowed down his pace. At the bottom, he stopped.

She dared a shuddering exhale in the unsettling silence. He did not turn, and she could only see the strong cut of his jaw and his nose, tilted away at an angle. The shadow of his figure loomed as a dark stranger on the wall. He did not speak.

The world slowly came back to her with every slowing heartbeat. In the Sheriff's room everything had happened quickly, one unpredictable moment tagging after another. The situation had dragged her along, and when she had spoken it had been more out of instinct than calculation. Seeing Guy vacillate between rage and shock, hurt and confusion, and Robin standing ready with his bow in hand, she had not known which turn of fate their situation would take. There had been a brief, overwhelming moment where she imagined escaping with Robin, but then she had squashed that thought. Things were not simple anymore. They never had been, but had she taken the route of the forest, there would have been no going back. She was not prepared for that.

Now, as she watched Guy standing away from her, she realised this was still far from over. Faint echoes of the feast wafted from the great hall and she wondered for a second what would be happening there. Will would be standing there in the centre of the hall in his dishevelled peasant garb, the cap with fake straggly hair attached to it obscuring his face. Prince John would be running his hands over the blisters on his skin, uttering nonsense, and all the while Djaq would be observing it all from a corner.

Maybe all of it was already over. Maybe Will and Djaq were now wondering when she would give them the signal to go.

She rubbed her sleeve. It was odd how things which had seemed so important an hour ago, hardly seemed to matter now.

"Guy," she started, carefully. There was no response. "We have to- whe have to return to the hall."

"You can go."

His voice faintly echoed against the hardness of the stones. It rang in her ears as disturbingly hollow.

He kept his back to her even when she repeated his name. She should have left him to go towards the safety of the hall then, but her wandering hand found his arm even as a small voice inside her whispered that she was being foolish. He remained motionless, despite her touch.

"Guy!" she hissed, and he finally turned around, as though forced by the sharpness in her voice alone.

She saw how he tried to straighten his face with detachment before he met her eyes. He failed.

"You think apologising solves everything," he said wearily.

It did not sound like an accusation, but she responded to it as if it were one. "Who said I was going to apologise?"

"Of course. You're never wrong."

She could feel the annoyance bubbling up in her now. "How can I be wrong when you put me in a situation where I was forced to disobey you?"

The expression on Guy's face turned incredulous, but she went on, "You took a vow from me to stop being the Nightwatchman, to stop helping people in that way, but I could not just-" she paused, swallowing hard. "I could not just sit back and watch, do my embroidery and shop for dresses, and wither away as Lady Gisborne." The torchlight flared, and she saw how wide his eyes had become. "And I'm-"

And I'm _sorry_. She caught herself before the word slipped out. Using 'sorry' was not just out of the question because she had refused to apologise a moment ago; 'sorry' brought back too many memories of the summer day when she had been caught as the Nightwatchman, of foolish recklessness, of spoken truths she had never thought she would confront Guy with.

She glanced up to see him standing silent, and stiff in his posture. He was waiting for her to continue. She sounded exhausted to herself when she did.

"I thought you would understand by now."

Her vision swam and she closed her eyes. The hush which had fallen was quiet, but in the stifled passage enclosed by stone, it seemed an emptiness which swallowed the breathing air. She had the distinct feeling of being in a grave.

She hardly heard him when he spoke, his voice low and uneven as though from disuse. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why didn't you-", he paused in frustration, his hands clenching into fists. It always upset him when he could not express himself properly. "You could have talked to me about this," he said at last.

"And you would have let me do as I wished?"

"Perhaps...I don't know. You would put your life and danger; I would not have allowed that, but if it is charity you want to give to the poor, I could have arranged something."

He talked about helping the poor, saving people's lives, as though it were nothing more than a casual matter of business. It angered her, this and the fact that even now he would consider the work she did, had done, merely as some misguided deeds borne out of charitable instinct.

He stepped back, creating some distance between them, and then started moving towards the hall. She swiftly caught up with him and, turned to face him, said: "You know this is not just about the poor. This is about England, the King-"

"You should stay out of politics!" he hissed sharply, stopping in his tracks. The tight control he had kept over his speech so far was slipping away now. "Do not always pretend to know what is right and what is wrong about things you have not seen for yourself. Matters are more complicated than this, and you have hardly ever been in the company of the men who make decisions, who rule the country, the way I have."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "And from what I've seen, they're all the same. Tell me, how is the king you so admire better than his brother? He's been gone for years, and in his absence England has to pay-"

"What I know is that at least he's not a madman who burns churches for entertainment!" she burst out. Her glare scattered over him even as her mind whirled. What he said rankled her and brought to mind that keen sense of vulnerability she had always felt. Because it was true; she was a woman and as a woman she had never been allowed to attend anything more than the monthly council meetings.

But then objection flared up in her - she had at least _talked_ and _discussed_ politics, and by relaying information to Robin, she _had_ been involved. Her father had been Sheriff. And at least she knew, beyond conviction, that before the Sheriff – one of _Prince John's_ men – had been installed, everyone had been much happier and the area far more prosperous. And yet despite all this, he would paint her so naive.

She continued, the emotion bubbling up in her anew. "At least people were content before the Sheriff arrived, before he installed this rule of tyranny. There was justice and-" she took a breath and looked up to see a shadow settle on his face like a mark of guilt. Bitter regret found a way in her voice when she spoke: "You claim to know better and yet you would not be repulsed by the deeds of your superiors, you would participate-"

"I do not approve of-"

"But you don't do anything about it!" Her retort was louder than she intended, and it surprised them both. She was suddenly glad for the solid walls which dampened their voices. "You say you hate the sheriff, yet you would still bow to his commands. You express hatred for Prince John, and yet you would concern yourself with a task he has entrusted to you." She shook her head. "You won't even tell me what it is."

He tensed, and she saw his gaze wander to the distant outline of the oak doors of the great hall. It seemed almost as though he was contemplating them as a means of escape from this conversation.

But then he looked at her, and she saw how the earlier shadow in his face had become a swirling bitterness which now clouded his eyes.

"So that is why you love Hood. Because he is everything I'm not."

The distress ran in his voice as a strong current and hit her with a force which left her unsteady on her feet. She stood still, at a loss of what to say. The conversation had so far steered clear from Robin, but she knew it had nothing to do with forgetfulness on either of their part.

Her eyes strayed to look at a spot behind his head. She wondered for a second where Robin and his gang would be now. They would have escaped, of course. They always did.

She knew she should answer, at least say something to alleviate his fears, because the longer the silence dragged, the greater the storm of his disturbed thoughts would become. But it was not simple, there was so much to what he had said- things she hardly knew how she felt about.

Guy exhaled with a shudder and dropped his head, as though her silence confirmed what he said. That lingering faith she always kept in him struck her swiftly, and it unsettled her that despite the continuous string of disappointments, he would believe himself to be below any form of goodness.

"I admire him," she said at last, carefully. "Maybe his methods aren't the best, but at least he tries. At least he's not afraid to defend what he believes in. That is why I work with him, because he's not afraid and he's ready to defy, whereas you..." she trailed off as disappointment overwhelmed her too strongly.

Guy's face looked ashen in the dim light.

"I'm not in the same position that he is. Not everyone can make the same choices," he murmured.

Something welled up in her throat and stuck there. Maybe if she were not married to him, maybe if she did not care for him this much, grinding all these futile hopes she carried for him to dust would have been easier. But he was her husband, she was bound to him and she saw with abrupt clarity that right now, he probably was all she had. Robin and his gang would always be there for her, but as distant companions, and never as constantly and closely linked to her life as Guy was.

She wanted to cry. She felt as though the walls around would constrict and crush her.

She knew Guy felt what she said was right, but the knowledge of this was even more damning- he would look up to her as a torchbearer to show the way, mark the paths when she did, and then never tread on them. And now he would forbid her her own freedom because he feared for her safety, and yet do nothing himself. She knew his past had drilled in him an intense fear of loss and poverty, but even then...Life would cage and cripple her, and all the while he would watch, not knowing how heavily she relied on him.

There was an awkward shuffle of his feet. She lifted her head to stare him in the eyes. Her mouth twisted bitterly, sadly, as she spoke. "People who are as weak as you are, they don't make choices."

He grew still before her. Smaller. She shook her head.

"Sometimes," she murmured, "I'm ashamed of you."

And then, before any words or gestures from him could stall her, she started running to the great hall, her heart jolting sickly in her chest.

* * *

He did not give his pounding heart a moment to settle. His shin ached from where it had bumped against the sharp edge of a stair, and he could feel his breath catching in his throat. But he did not trust himself to stop or wait or think.

He came to a halt before the closed door of the Sheriff's room and put his hand on the handle. It felt cool. For the first time since Marian had left him, apprehension ebbed over some part of his awareness, and he paused, straining his ears.

To prevent his doubts from taking form, he pushed the door open in one swift motion, and he stepped inside.

His eyes fell first on the spluttering candle which stood on the desk, and then to the circle of objects which rose in its unsteady light. In the large chair behind the desk, only a deep shadow was seated. He swallowed, and scattered a frantic look over all the corners of the room. There was no one.

He would have exhaled in some sort of relief - he could not deny that his determination had been accompanied by panic - but suddenly he could see Marian's disappointed eyes boring through his, feel that similar sense of acute shame. _No, _he thought. Tonight he would put an end to this cowardice.

He was again drawn to the weakening glow of the candle, and moving closer, he realised the room had been unlit half an hour ago. Several parchments were spread on the desk, and there was a blossoming spot of red on the corner of one sheet. And then he saw the three drops of wine and the half-filled goblet of wine.

Whoever had gone out would be returning soon.

He suddenly realised that he should hide. He turned around to assess his options, and seeing the bulk of some piece of furniture, wondered if it would conceal him well enough. He made to move, but then-

"Close the door and sit down, Guy."

As the clear, unperturbed voice of the Sheriff rang out, Guy felt as though a cold hand had taken hold of his spine. Twisting around, he saw the Sheriff emerge from a black shadow beside the window. He could not understand how he had not seen him before.

"The door, Guy." The Sheriff casually motioned towards the entrance. "Then take a seat."

To his horror, he found his limbs obeying. He softly shut the door and then, following the inclined hand of the Sheriff, settled himself on the large chair. Beneath him, its mass felt foreign and uncomfortable. He realised, with a start, that he had never been allowed a seat on the chair before.

The Sheriff moved towards the table and poured himself some wine, all the while keeping a distracted focus on his own moving hands. Guy felt uneasy. He could not understand what this ritual of nonchalance meant any more than he could understand why it was so hard for him to stand up and just do what he had come for.

"Wine?" The Sheriff gave him a brief glance. Guy shook his head. Watching Vaisey easily drain his goblet in one swallow, he again thought there had to be something behind this whole charade, and this was possibly why, despite his own discomfort, he was still sitting here, motionless. He had to find out before taking decisive action, he reasoned.

Without warning, Marian's face flashed through his imagination. Her words of several minutes ago resonated through his senses and unconsciously, his hand wandered to the dagger concealed in his doublet.

The Sheriff suddenly looked up and pinned him with a curious stare. Guy gazed back, keeping his face as stoic as possible. Slowly the Sheriff's expression turned to something undecipherable . It looked as though he was about to say something, but then he picked up the quill lying on the desk, twirled it in his fingers, and brought its edge under one thumb.

"I know you're here to kill me," the Sheriff said languidly.

Guy nearly jumped out of his seat, even though at the same time he felt himself rendered immobile. He looked up, expecting the Sheriff to be approaching him with a withdrawn dagger of his own, but Vaisey merely smiled sardonically as he came over to Guy's side.

"Prince John put you up to it, didn't he?" Guy made no response, and the Sheriff moved closer still. "Made you some pretty promises of power and wealth, called you his most loyal servant, hmm?" There was a glint in the Sheriff's eyes which danced along with the mockery in his words.

Vaisey then moved to the back of the chair and Guy could sense him leaning in closer.

He had to get away.

But an arm came over his shoulder, and when the Sheriff next spoke his words had lost all trace of sarcasm.

"What did I tell you before the Prince arrived?"

Guy remained silent. He was hardly ever required to reply; it had always been a custom between them.

"Prince John," the Sheriff started, and then dropping his voice to a whisper, continued, "is sly and dangerous, and loves nothing more than using people as pawns."

The Sheriff's breath was hot on his ear, and Guy shifted uneasily. As always, he was too close, his voice too controlled and calm and _knowing_.

"What I told you before Prince John arrived was that we only have a chance of making this out alive if we work_ together_."

Guy found the statement creeping up on him in its slow deliberation. His breath had gone shallower. He would not succumb to this, he told himself, but even then he could not deny that some sensation, ugly and weak, had started gnawing at his defences. He willed himself to think of the day when the Sheriff had betrayed him with such ease.

"I know what you're thinking," the Sheriff said. Guy flinched. He had no doubt the Sheriff knew exactly what he had been thinking. "You are thinking..." He felt his head being tilted to the side, and then the raspiness of a beard to the side of his neck. "...that because I betrayed you, we cannot work together."

Guy kept himself rigid. The weight of his dagger was solid against him, and he assured himself he would use it before he left this room. He would not be easily swayed.

The Sheriff let out a breath, and though it was warm, it chilled Guy's neck. He felt the pressure of a chin lift before two hands came to rest on his shoulders.

"Sometimes we have to do things we do not like doing," the Sheriff said. His tone had changed. Guy recognised it as the one which sounded almost like the Sheriff could care, almost paternal. "I took a risk that day because I had to. It was the best possible choice."

Guy felt those pinpricks of doubt become sharper, and he knew it was wrong, so horribly wrong that even now anything the Sheriff said could affect him.

"Isn't that what you tell your wife?"

Guy felt a sickness overwhelm his stomach. A tremble stole through him.

"What do you mean?"

He tried to keep his voice steady, but did not succeed.

"When you do something she does not like, don't you tell her you do it only because it is necessary?"

Guy could only stare at the heavy shadows of the room. Somewhere in the mist of darkness, he spotted the bright roundness of a skull.

A weight seemed to sit on every object in the room. His own shoulders beneath the Sheriff's hand were dampened by sweat. But before he could bring his tumbling thoughts to focus on Marian, the Sheriff renewed the grip on his shoulders and steered the conversation to where they had started.

"We shall leave the issues of your domestic life aside for now, so tell me." The hands on his shoulders wandered to the sides of his neck. "Do you want to work with me?"

Guy still did not know what game they were playing at, but then he had hardly ever been able to read the Sheriff's mind. He could sense the same helplessness of an hour ago, when he had stood in the same room with two different people, settling over him. And then there was something else too, something which had been bothering him since before he entered this room. Whether he went through with it and killed the sheriff or not, he did not know whether this act would released him from the self-wrought shackles he had lived with for so long. The command had, after all, come from Prince John, and he did not want this act to be tarnished. He wanted it to be done..

Whether he would murder the Sheriff or not, he did not know whether this would release him from the self-wrought shackles he had lived with for so long because, he thought, the murder had been a command from Prince John. He did not want this act to be tarnished, he wanted it to be done for Marian, and for himself, and for that purpose alone.

He had the sudden urge to stand up and throw open the shutters.

"I'm still waiting for an answer," the Sheriff murmured, and his fingers moved higher up Guy's neck.

Beneath them, his pulse fluttered like a caged bird.

Guy felt himself scrabbling for a decision. He would say yes now, pretend to be interested in a proposal that in reality held no allure for him, because he needed to get out of here, he needed a better opportunity to kill. The blood pounded through his ears and he nearly found himself nodding his assent. But then other things resurfaced through his reeling senses- Marian's disappointment, shards of self-loathing, a constant chant (_coward, coward_). His fingers found the direction of the concealed dagger.

He felt the sinister absence of a weight behind his back before he understood it for what it was.

In a flash of candlelight, he saw the glint of movement only for a second. Then the arm holding it fell and Guy looked at his own, and followed its path to his fingers, to the hilt of his knife, to the blade buried deep in the Sheriff's chest. He could not breathe. The eyes in the face above him stared wide in their sockets. Slowly the surprise in them changed to horror. The body slumped to the ground. Guy kept on clutching his dagger until it slipped out and he could see its blade.

Suddenly, red was everywhere.

He could see it in the blood bubbling up from the Sheriff's chest, from his mouth, and as it trailed further and further along in creeping fingers. Even the orange haze of the candlelight turned red.

He had to leave.

He stumbled to the door and carrying himself in faltering steps, he ran.

* * *

Her skirts tangle around her legs as she runs. The sound of her running feet echoes dully in the stone passage and her lungs ache for breath. Still, she feels she cannot run fast enough. _Not again_, she says to herself. _Not again_. The memory of her father, lying cold and dead on the stretcher, assaults her with renewed force and she tightens her grip on the folds of her gown. The guilt had hung around her like a noose then. If now she sees what she fears has happened, she thinks she will choke.

She rounds the bend in the passage, and it is then that she sees him.

He is slumped against the wall, eyes staring nowhere. Her entire body freezes. But then he turns when she runs closer and the first thing she sees is the blood on his hands.

"It's over," he says, and presses with trembling hands the dagger in her palm.

"It's over."

* * *

_finis-_


End file.
